Woof
by Bekassin
Summary: Dean keeps seeing things that aren't there. Sam can catch a cold but no break. There might be a black dog. There definitely is a floating squid. Oh, and some nice old fashioned poison.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn´t bad luck.

Bad luck was sitting down on gum, getting the wrong lottery ticket or being costumer number 100.001, because you let the guy with the peanut butter skip the line.

That was bad luck.

This… this was… obscene.

It was the middle of the night on an upstate Minnesota road, raining like hell. They had just finished another hunt that left Dean with two cracked ribs and a sliced open back, while Sam sported a more than decent cold and a sprained ankle.

And now Dean had run over something.

Something the damn size of a horse.

It had come out of nowhere and stopped directly in front of their car.

Sam, dozing in the passenger seat could only register a sound like tearing cloth before he was tossed onto the dashboard.

Dean got the car to lurch left. The steering wheel in a death grip he tried to get the car to skid sideways. Dean knew it moments before the actual accident happened.

He couldn't bypass it, he stared at the brute and actually hit it.

Hit it. Straight on.

But there was no impact.

Just a "whoosh" and a wave of cold air, that made the windows of the car fog up and dipped everything around them in a fine mist.

There should have been an impact. A whip-lashing one by the size of that thing.

"Son of a –" Dean muttered when the car came to a screeching halt, with only his back tires still in contact with the street tarmac.

"Tell me you saw that too." His voice was strained and Sam could suddenly place the ripping sound. He heard it before, it was the sound of stitches tearing.

"Saw what?" growled the taller man as he unfolded himself from the strange posture the accident had left him in.

Wordlessly, his brother helped him upright, only asking when he got him to lean back in his seat:" You're okay?"

"Think so," repeated Sam, he squinted at the milky white wall that was the windshield:" What's going on…?"

"Don't know." Interjected Dean: "Lock the door." he growled wiping at the driver's window with his sleeve. It only smeared the condensation, making everything blurry.

They both sat for a couple of seconds unmoving and desperately harking for anything. But there was nothing other than the drumming of the rain on the car roof. Reminding them that that thin layer of metal, this tin can, was everything between them and what the hell that thing had been.

"Damn rain is too loud," commented Dean, his voice faltered while he tried to bend forward in an attempt to retrieve the gun he had carelessly thrown in Sam's foot room after the hunt. There hadn't been much time, not with a fairly pissed sheriff on their heels. To be honest they could have figured out that blowing up the funding memorial wouldn't get them brownie points… but they weren't the weirdos who cemented a bonding spell inside their town father's statue.

"Let me." Sam interrupted him, moving quickly before his brother could injure his rips further. He bend down to grope around in the foot room, ignoring how his head screamed at him for doing so. His fingers found the cold metal and he righted himself.

"I don´t see it," muttered Dean.

"See what?" asked Sam again.

But Dean had turned in his seat scanning the tree line on the other side of the street through the white coating "I don't see a thing. Not even lightning. Useless- keep that", he snarled at Sam, when his brother tried to hand him the gun. "And think happy thoughts," he added turning the key.

The engine roared to life. "Atta girl," mumbled Dean and shifted into gear, simultaneously cracking up the ventilation to its highest setting finally clearing the windows.

He carefully maneuvered the huge car back on the street.

"What are you doing?" came Sam's voice out of the cabin's semi-light, the sentence followed by a sneeze. He sounded fretful to Dean. As if he expected more from his big brother. Well this big brother had a seriously shitty week and wasn't in the mood for more.

"What do you wanna do? Go search for it? In the middle of the night? Without knowing anything about it, in this rain?" he growled at Sam while the car picked up speed.

"Searching for what, Dean?" Sam gave back, slightly agitated.

Dean shot him a glance:" You didn't see it?"

"Had my eyes closed," answered Sam.

Dean swore.

"What was it? Dean? Come on!"

"Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" repeated Sam," What the hell? Is something hunting us?" he asked wryly.

"It won't," came the clipped answer.

"It won't?" insisted Sam. He had turned and stared out of the rear window in the near darkness searching for… a shadow? Some burning eyes? A set of florescent fangs?

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I just know, ok?" Dean sounded slightly out of breath. Sam zeroed in on his brother for a second, but there was too little light to properly see anything: "Dean?" he prodded carefully.

Dean flinched, honest to god flinched, at his name.

It took him a couple of seconds before he answered, and when he did, his voice was controlled in a way that made Sam's neck prickle. "Look, what I saw was a black dog. And if it is a black dog, than it isn't hunting tonight. At least not us." Dean's tone sounded final.

Sam wasn't having it. "How can you–"

"Because we would be dead by now, okay? These things are fast and a car is no match for them. The only reason why we could have hit it, is because it was looking for something else. Like being really focused on something that was NOT us. Thank whoever you want for small favors and shut the fuck up."

"So we´ll just leave it like this? Running around?" requested Sam, ignoring his brother's remark.

"Never said we would." Dean's answer sounded like it had to slip through firmly shut teeth.

"But–"

"We gonna find us a nice little motel, in a nice little town somewhere around, that has a nice little library for your geek to go haywire in. We will sleep, we will eat, you will take some damn pills for that fever you're sporting- don't try to deny it- then we will find out what the hell this is about. And then will we deal with it. Problem with that?"

Sam sneezed again.

"That's what I thought. Keep your eyes open for a sign or what they use as an excuse for them out here."

They drove for twenty more minutes, twenty freaking minutes, before there was a sign of life again. And this sign of life turned out as the most haggard looking motel they had ever seen.

The building seemed to crumble in front of their very eyes.

Sam shot his brother a glance while the older man was busy studying the "Motel" neon advertisement that only showed a pink "L" to the world.

Sam was about to say something in the direction of ´let's find a place where life is possible´, but then the lamp next to them flickered and he caught the sight of his brother. In the dim light of the parking lot Dean looked exhausted. His hair sticking up strangely after running in the rain, a bruise – god knew where he picked that up – gleaming on the right side of his neck, he sat hunched to take some pressure off his ribs, a thing he only did, when he was to weary to realize he was doing it. And then he turned his head and looked at Sam. It was this strange look Sam always associated with too much. Too much running, too little food, not enough sleep, too much world to look after. It was Dean telling him that he indeed would keep going if Sam asked him to, but pleading with everything but words to not make him do it.

So Sam did the only thing he could and said, "I know it looks bad, but I'm beat. We could at least give it a try." He coughed, more for good measure than anything, but it seemed to be enough.

Dean's shoulders relaxed visibly while he squinted at the golden square that was the reception window.

"Whatever," he grumbled eventually. "Keep your ass in the car." With that he was out in the rain, wrapping his coat around him and sprinting towards the little square of light.

The guy behind the battered check in counter had been a strange side in a place like this. He was neatly dressed, polite and looked as if somebody hat cut him out of a health magazine and pinned him on the cover of "ruins daily". It left Deans skin crawling in a way he couldn´t explain. He told himself it was the last hunt, and the rain, and the night, and this freaking squeaky clean alien.

He had got the keys, threw them at Sam, parked the car and now watched his brother hobble over to their room.

Dean peered after him over the open trunk. He waited till Sam disappeared through the door before he let himself slide down on the rim. Rain pearling through his hair and dripping from his nose, while he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He felt sick. Something scratched at the back of his throat, made him gag. He spat out and tried to convince himself that this was only his body coming down from the adrenaline rush. His stomach cramped. They weren't far enough away from this lunatics. Not by a long shot.

Fruit-bat-shit-crazy. The whole damn town. Who the hell would take an Alb as a town mascot?

It had taken them the better of two weeks to finally find that connection between the deaths. Would have taken longer if Sammy hadn't found the fricking sheriff covering up evidence.

Like he found every fricking clue in this whole case. On top of being sick as a dog.

Dean spat again. The familiar dread bubbling in his chest.

It had been there since they set a foot in the village.

Lingering just outside of his reach. It scared him and he didn't do scared. He got angry. Had been this way since… since he could think. No use in being scared. Just kick the crap out what ever had the impertinence to try and scare you. That was useful.

But there had been nothing to kick. The only thing near enough to get angry with had been Sam.

Sam who of course would think he was still mad about the whole asylum thing.

And he was - in a way. But he was more… beat up about it. His little brother hated him. Didn't change a thing. Wouldn't change a thing. Not really.

He had long on decided that there were certain people he would do everything for. Equally what they asked for. A kidney? Help yourself. Want me to run till my feet bleed, but can't tell me why? Sure, I trust you. Need me to let you go, so you can be happy?

That was a tricky one.

But that was just the point. He would do it. He decided that these people, these few, couldn´t do anything that would hurt him. They held a part of what he was, and as far as he was concerned, that meant he belonged to them. It was a short list. Bobby, Dad, Sam.

So if Sam hated him… that wouldn´t change a thing for Dean. He still got a little brother. He still had to protect him.

Even he couldn't bullshit himself.

Groaning he let his head sink in his hands.

The last days kind of blended together. Made it hard to remember what happened when. He forgot witnesses, messed up dates, confused places.

It scared him even more. A little more venom he spat in Sam´s direction.

And then his friendly chat with the Alb.

The feeling of that thing so nearby his face, grouping at his neck, trying to find a way inside his skull. Literally, in the truest blood and bone meaning, trying to get inside his head had him shuddering. Involuntarily he touched the spot at the back of his neck and jerked when pain seared through him. Great, that would bruise nicely.

"Dean?" his brother's scratchy voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

With a groan he righted himself enough to see over the trunk lid. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing out there?" a coughing fit ended Sam's sentence. Dean held up the salt container. "Had to dig for it." He growled, shouldered his own duffel bag, and after a second of fumbling their first aid box too.

He slammed the lid shut and made his way to his brother who still waited in the open door of their room.

"You're soaked." Sam said accusingly, like it was his fault that it rained in Minnesota.

"Well, you're ugly. What do we do about that?" he shot back, earning him a scowl.

He shed out of his jacked and debated with himself to just fall on the bed, wet sheets be damned, when a hand tugged at the back of his shirt:" You´re bleeding again." Sam's voice was too soft. Like he was made out of fricking glass. He had a sudden urge to show his brother exactly what he was made of, perhaps by shoving him in this nice wall over there.

Dean hesitated. That was a nice wall. A quick look around the room confirmed the unbelievable. No holes, not in the roof or the carpet. The beds looked clean. The room itself was decorated in light colors and it was warm. Nice and toasty. Even the remote wasn't chained to the nightstand.

Jackpot.

"You're dripping on the carpet." his brother nagged.

"Yeah?" Dean glanced at his feet wearily, still distracted by the sparkling kitchen unit. He indeed stood in a puddle.

"Go take a shower." His brother nudged him lightly.

"You go first. I'm not sick."

"I'm dry." Sam pointed at his repugnant dry shirt.

Dean growled again, he wouldn't win this one. And for some reason that made him angrier than it should have. Damn pesky little brothers.

"At least put your foot up or it – what-?" Dean snapped and was interrupted by his little brother crouching in front of him.

"Quit bitching." was all Sam said.

Dean blinked and needed a second to realize that Sam was opening his boots. His fucking boots. So he wouldn't need to bend down with his fucking ribs. The same little brother who got nearly slammed into a wall for looking out for him. Nice going Dean.

He groaned to himself. That had Sam´s head snapping up immediately:" You're okay?"

"Sure. Just thought for a second you would propose. Shock of my life." Dean gave back.

Sam snorted and helped him to step out of the boots.

"Try to wash this cuts out." He called after him.

"Yes, Mom." And Dean shut the door behind him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sam stared at the closed bathroom door and tried to figure out what went wrong.

His brother had been on edge before he nearly ran them off the street. Black dog.

´Black dog´, his ass. He hadn't seen a damn thing, and he hadn't felt anything that even remotely indicated they had run something over.

Dean had been thin-lipped and clammed up half the time while they were in this god forsaken town.

Sam scratched his forehead and hobbled over to the bed. Gingerly he let himself sink into the mattress. It was like sitting on a very cooperative cloud.

He couldn't help but to let himself fall back into the warmth that the duvet promised. He wouldn't sleep, not right now. The blood stains on his brother's shirt etched into his retinas, reminded him of a job he still had to do. But his head throbbed fiercely. There was no shame in closing his eyes. Only for as long as his brother showered.

He managed to lift one of his arms. They seemed heavier than normal. Fever, supplied his brain unnecessarily. Rummaging in his jeans pocket he finally found what had been pricking him since they high tailed out of that town.

The oval shaped objects looked like rocks. White and smooth. Glinting in the lamp light like pebbles. They were sharper than razors, their edges ground thin. Sam studied one of them with random interest.

They were all that was left of the Alb they had killed not ten hours before.

´Nasty critters,´ his fever muddled brain noticed.

´Vilely, yucky, sickly, revolting little shits.´ Boiling them seemed to have an interesting effect on his thoughts. Sam yawed, trying to stuff the strange notions back where they came from.

Although Albs were all that.

And apparently their anatomy was similar to the ones of squids. Squids for god's sake. Like too many legs, only good for calamari squids.

But apparently Albs came from the Scandinavian coast. Early settlers had brought over their own demons to their brave new world, and wasn't that fucked up in itself.

Sam carefully ran one of his thumps over the sharp beak edge. These Albs had been different from the one they knew before. Sam's Albs had always been big hairy things sitting on your chest while you slept, making you claustrophobic and feasting on your nightmares.

Well these creepy shits cut out the middle men. They fucking floated. Floated with some kind of helium bubbles in their head bone. Get that. Schlup had Bobby called it. That's a name that screamed Scandinavia, right there. This Albs only had about three bones. The head and the two beak parts. All nicely wrapped in a slippery, fetid abomination. With yes too many arms that could nicely wrap around your head while the damn thing would try to crack open your skull to get to your dreams.

Could poison you too.

But that wouldn't kill you. Their poison worked so slow, that they needed a really high doses to get you down. It was basically just preventing you from freaking out while they ate you alive.

It could take some time to…make you open up to them. So they gave you a little love tap and let you roam free, with only the slightly disturbing dream of a squid in your bed. You would go about your day, come home, to the psychopathic squid, and lay yourself down.

That would repeat itself long enough until there was enough poison in your system to knock you out. And voila, dinner time.

Only thing was, it messed with your head. Quite a bit.

Sam heard the shower start and put the beak down immediately. He squinted at the door.

The bruising on Dean´s neck. How long had his brother that? Sam couldn´t remember seeing it before last night. But he hadn't looked for it either. He had been off his game the complete time. Missing hint after hint, getting them into real trouble when he accidentally let the sheriff known that they were on to them.

Half the time he simply thought his brother was pissed with him.

Yesterday morning, when Bobby called, telling them what they were dealing with, he was so relieved, that he didn't question anything. Till then Dean had bet on a shape-shifter. Kept even squirting holy water at Sam, on a regular basis.

No talking about bad sleep, or grogginess. Nightmares and panic.

But when would Dean ever talk about something like that. Especially on a job.

Mr. No-problem-I-found-the-missing-limb-just-need-superglue.

At least they toasted the Alb.

They killed it by destroying the Statue. Well… Dean had destroyed the statue. Sam had been busy hitting the floaty freak squid with a shovel.

Not his brightest hour, admitted, but when something like this came at you, you had the nearly unbearable urge to play baseball with it.

Had this thing touched his brother?

No he had been between Dean and this...wannabe appetizer the whole time.

The shower stopped and Sam peeked up, waiting for the door to open.

For the longest time nothing happened.

He was half off the bed before he heard the noise.

A strange 'splat'.

Like something heavy dropping on tiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean fought. His enemy was strong. His enemy was a button.

Stupid little fucker.

Great, now he was angry at buttons.

If he kept on training perhaps he could start to detest socks. It could become a new hobby.

Shedding out of the shirt was a task in itself.

He needed two tries to climb over the rim. After accomplishing this tremendous task he simply lacked the strength to stay upright.

One hand on the tiles he let himself slide down and turned on the water.

It wasn´t the first time showering brought him to his knees. It wouldn´t be the last time.

He would get clean either way.

Pick your battles.

Washing was nearly as strenuous as standing. But it felt damn good.

He scratched his nails over his scalp and stared at the indefinable streaks that vanished down the drain.

He stayed like that till the water turned cold.

Then he did all of it again. Stand up, stop the water, step over the rim. The shower curtain stuck to his shine and he tried his best to not take it off the rod while getting it off. In the middle of his curtain combat he stopped. His whole body tensing. It was a reaction that belonged in a dark forest, or a half lidden cellar. This was a hunt response. He looked up. Slowly, to not startle whatever made the hair on his neck stand on end.

The room was empty. Nothing in the mirror – Hurray there. The toilette seemed trustworthy. The shower curtain was dodgy. But probably not supernatural.

This bathroom had a small window. It was directly opposite the sink.

There was nothing special about this window. Its frames were made of white plastic. It was clear glass, only the bottom part of it disguised with a film that restricted visibility.

Nothing special.

The dog was big enough to look through the clear part.

His eyes a pale shine in the dark, his breath foggy against the cold glass.

And just like that Dean´s brain short-circuited. There was no training, no precision, there was only the mindless terror of being back in that parking lot. With the waving weeds and the sun and the dead man.

Dean recoiled. One leg still in the tube he stumbled backwards, ripping the curtain right off the rod.

His head hit something, probably the sink, but his eyes stayed glued on the window where two equivalents, the size of tennis balls, returned his look.

The dog stared, Dean stared.

A disheveled looking Sam busted through the door. Dean didn't even glance in Sam´s direction. There was a thread and his eyes would stay right on it.

"Dean?" and his idiot of a little brother crouched in front of him, blocking his view of the window.

Something in Dean clicked. He didn´t answer, just pulled his brother by the neck. Fuelled by the burning need to protect. Sam yelped in surprise while he was shoved behind Dean. He heard Sam tumble, but didn´t turn around. His chest slowly froze from the inside out. The blood, and the birds singing, there had been some traffic on the nearby street and Dad just went to get some coffee. His pulse beating in his ears, just like the last time he had faced a hound.

"What´s going on?" Sam sounded fervently worried.

"Shut up." Growled Dean, he had a very slim chance to get his brother out of this alive, and it got slimmer with every second. His gaze turned back to the window. Nothing. No eyes. No fogged up glass.

Dean swore and pulled himself up at the radiator.

He darted through the room, grapping not his jacket, but the gun he had left on the bed.

He tore the door open and stared out in the dark and the rain.

His thoughts blurred. Scrambled all over the place, left him with nothing but terror.

He gasped, tried to listen over his own erratic breathing.

He couldn´t hear a damn thing. Well except for his brother, who yelled something about indecency charges and tried to drag him back in the room.

"Get back in. It´s still here!" Dean´s barked orders only made Sam walk out in rain till he stood between Dean and the parking lot. Parking lot. Out of nowhere. And he had been too slow.

"What is here?" the face that asked him was all big brown eyes and floppy hair.

"Are you crazy?" Dean stepped back and hauled his brother in with him. He closed and bolted the door, only to make a dive for the salt container. Immediately strewing lines along the door and the windows. He got stopped by a hand around his biceps on his way to the bathroom window.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

He tried to shake of his brother:" It´s out there. Still might come through the salt." He struggled trying to get out of Sam´s grip while his mouth just kept on it:" Did you bring the sawed off in? That might slow it."

"Slow what Dean."

"The dog. Sam. THE FUCKING DOG."

That got him loose. He stumbled in the bathroom, slipping a little on the wet tiles. His hand shook enough to make the salt spill all over the window frame. It was a line regardless.

He left the container on the sill and peered in the darkness. This wouldn't be enough.

"Dean?" the voice was cautious but it still made him spin around the gun raised.

Sam had both hands outstretched, palms open, like you would do in front of a crazy guy with a gun.

"I told you to get the sawed off."

"It´s ok. It can´t come in here."

"Don´t fuck around." Dean spat. It had been like this the last time too. All calm and normal and suddenly a good man had been dead and it had been Dean's fault and he should have been so much faster. He should have known better.

"Breath. Dean. DEAN!" Sam's voice got through the fog in his brain. He still held his little brother at gun point. His heart hammered through the ice in his chest, made him feel nauseated. This was wrong. All wrong.

"What´s going on?" was that really his voice? He heard that tone before. On people they pulled out of Wendigo dens. The child they found in that basement after – he stopped himself sharply.

"I think I know what´s going on. Dean. Look at me. DEAN." He snapped into attention at his brother's shout. Sam still had his hands up:" It´s a toxin. Dean. A venom. The Alb did it. Ok."

Sam made a careful step in his direction.

Why would Sam move so slowly? Nobody moved so slow, you only did that to calm down a frightened animal. Dean followed Sam´s flickered glances and saw the gun in his own shaking hand.

"The dog."

"There is no dog, Dean. No dog. It´s the Venom. Makes you see things."

Something in his chest cramped. It hurt like hell. He blindly gripped the rim, nearly went down.

"That´s bad."

"It´s ok. It will pass."

"Pass?" Dean got his head up high enough to see his brothers face. Sam nodded:" Temporary. Not lethal. I swear."

Dean stared for some seconds longer:" No dog?"

"No dog."

Dean fought hard to untangle the pictures that merged in his brain. The smell of guts on the hot tarmac, cheap soap from his shower, the stench of the beast only a feet away from him, cough syrup in Sam´s breath. He scrapped over the walls of his reality.

"You are sure?" he needed to know. Sam needed to be sure.

"I am." Sam held his gaze.

Stone one. If everything is twisted you go and find stone one. And if you have it you built on it. Even if every instinct in you screams against it.

Over the roar of his mind he stared at his brother. Ok. Stone one.

"Then you better take that." He pushed the gun into one of Sam´s palms and let himself sink down against the bathtub. A hand almost immediately curled around his neck. It was welcome and it didn´t leave while he sucked in air, desperately trying not to pass out.

"You are hyperventilating." Sam was directly in front of him, his face inches from his own.

"Lets… poison ….you next." He got out between the pants:" See… you do." He stoped talking after that, it just hurt too damn much. With his ribs screaming at him and all this ice in his chest.

He closed his eyes again, let his head fall forward and concentrated on slowing his breathing. It wasn´t helping much. But it wasn´t his first rodeo. He only needed to do this for a couple of seconds. Everybody could do this. Even with the voice in his head that just howled to run, RUN – get his brother, get him somewhere safe. Not on this floor. Not this exposed. Not with a black dog on the –

"Dean. Hey." Something taped against his cheek:" You have to stay with me. Ok?"

"No … dog?"

"No dog. I promise." The hand on his neck pressed a little firmer:" Just us. I promise."

Dean nods. He just had to do this for a couple of seconds. Easy. Anybody could do that. And after that who knows. Perhaps another couple of seconds. That's nothing. He can do it a couple of seconds. As long as he can tell himself, it´s just a couple of seconds. He can do it.


End file.
